Ninth
by Draconicality
Summary: He knows their friendship is broken beyond repair, but not even guilt kills hope. [post-series, Athrun x Kira]


_Authoress-ramble: Well, err...hooked on Gundam SEED as I am, I'm writing a bunch of super-short fandrabbles that I never really intended to post anywhere but on my own site. But then Episode 29 rolled along, and since I'm a Nicol fan (he's sweet, sensible and has (almost) the same name as me! XD; Fine, so the last one isn't a valid reason, but still) I went, "WTF HE DIES?!" and threw a shoe at the TV. And then Athrun was all angsty, and killed Tolle (another shoe)...so the little muses went 'Write!' And the beginning drabbly bit grew, and grew, and grew..._

_And it's Athrun/Kira because those two deserve a happy life together. And stuff. I'm still not averse to a good Athrun/Cagalli, though... _

****

**Ninth**

You still think about Nicol, on the nights all soldiers have, the ones where you're too tired to sleep, and you look up at the ceiling, where all the regrets you've ever had waltz across your brain and never, ever seem to stop.

Kira says you woke him up once, and he still won't talk about whatever it is you said; it seemed to scare the hell out of him. But it doesn't stop him from climbing in at night, and eventually winding himself around you no matter how far he is from you when he falls asleep. You never mind. It's pleasant to have him that way, warm and living, clingy, _yours._ It hurt when the two of you parted ways, and living together eases that ache at last. Never mind that people think it's a little strange, two former enemies sharing a home; it causes more smiles than it does pointed fingers. Peacetime can, and eventually will, heal.

But the nights either of you think about the war are problem nights, because he remembers the pilot of that fighter plane – Tolle, right? And it's even worse when he has visions of that girl whom you heard but never saw. _Fllay, Fllay, _he told you, such a short forever ago. _She was someone I promised to protect... _And after her death, he wouldn't tell you any more, but the rawness of his voice was explanation enough.

And Nicol is still fresh in your mind's eye in the clothes he was wearing for that last concert, near the middle of the fighting, where he accused you of falling asleep. You never had the chance to tell him that you hadn't, that you'd really loved it, but that Dearka (of all people!) had put you up to it beforehand. He wanted to know how the proud pianist in his teammate would react...but then there was all that confusion, and something as trivial as a dare got lost in the pain of friends dying, of friend-killing, and the flooding declarations of 'SOLDIER: DEAD' and 'SOLDIER: MIA' that drove everyone into bloodlust-filled frenzies of _no, that can't be! it's impossible... _and finally, _vengeance._

In those quiet colors of cream and brown, your friend had been the very image of calm, and it clashes with the raw screaming of your name that was his final word. It drips with pain. No fear. That was the funny thing – though the others often referred to him as 'coward,' he was never afraid as long as you knew him. Even those that branded him with the nickname know it, though it's like pulling teeth to get the others to talk about him. It's only been a little over two years since the war ended, and they need more time to dismiss their regrets, and fulfill the myriad unspoken promises that they made to him, about him, or around him and the others. Rusty and Miguel's deaths hurt you all too, but they were different, placed at the wrong time to give you any time to think about them afterwards – and that's another whole set of memories you need to come to terms with eventually.

You still need to tell Dearka that Nicol wasn't upset; still need to tell his mother that her son was the bravest person you knew (for all the good that'll do); still have those tens of thousands of important little things that you conveniently forgot or weren't appropriate to say at the time.

Most of all, you need to learn to forgive Kira, who is your best friend no longer, but something that is at the same time even closer, and much, much farther away. He still cries in his sleep some nights – quietly, so quietly, but you can hear him too well; curse the advanced senses of a Coordinator. Those are when you'll wake up without being aware of having slept in the first place, when the front of your nightshirt's grown hot and soaked through with tears your friend never knows he's shed in the mornings.

You hold him then just like when you were five and the both of you were left alone in the corner of the school playground by the other kids, at the sandy part with the little withered tree and the broken seesaw that dumped off anyone who tried to sit on it by themselves. It took the weight of two people to hold it down steady and not fall, his hands clutching at the lapels of your uniform like they were his only anchor in a world gone totally adrift around the both of you.

He didn't cry much then, not like now. Maybe back then, having a friend, even one friend with them, was enough for the shunned but innocent. Maybe when one has uncountable deaths screaming in agony from the dark recesses of their minds, tears are the easiest way to temporarily assuage the painful guilt.

You have to wonder, when they come hot and fast from behind his dreaming eyelids, if you do the same sometimes. The visions come harshly, tattered faces of friend and foe rising up from the gloom of starless space, where Aegis/Justice drifts alone. _Blood, blood, there's blood on your hands,_ they whisper, even the faceless ones you never saw. _You killed and killed and killed..._

Then they reach for you through the cockpit's frail, man-made barrier – it is only metal, and what is the material to a ghost? And it is cold, so cold, that you don't know if you're crying, because you're numb and can see nothing but streaks and spatters of crimson (who knew that it could have so many shades?) Where is the oxygen? You can't breathe, they're touching you, there is no air, no sound in space, nothing but you, drifting among the scattered debris and the specters of war's countless dead, struggling for the faintest breath and failing even that.

_Kira. Kira. Kira, _you try to say. _I don't want to die alone. _

If his nightmares are like yours – and there is every possibility that they are worse – then you'd give anything to keep him from having them.

_Then why do you never wake him up?_ the soundless little voice whispers. Because you are afraid that when he opens his eyes in the darkness he will not know who you are. If he is caught in war-memory, then he will see you as an enemy. One thing you know you can never bear is for the two of you to strike at each other again in hatred, to want to murder--

But you almost did, you came so close to adding him to those ghosts. In the darkness of the night as you hold him, that waking memory crashes down like a wave, locking your muscles more effectively than any vise. So all you can do is soothe Kira in your arms without waking him, and pray for _maybe._

Maybe one day the both of you will finally be able to share your grief and learn to heal each other's invisible hurts. Maybe in one of those nights, Kira will find his way back into the living world and understand exactly what has happened between the two of you. Maybe something else you cannot foresee will happen, and replace the fountain of tears with new, blooming laughter. Maybe you could share that future with him, but you can only hope to gain such an unlikely blessing after your countless crimes.

And maybe, finally, when you look at him, seeing Nicol's smile behind his face will no longer bring such pain.

* * *

_Authoress-ramble: Oh dear. You _try_ to write a sadfic, and in the end, this is the gist of the thing:_

Athrun: I angst!

Kira: I angst too!

Athrun: WTF go away Kira! You hogged all the screen time crying, so gimme a chance!

Kira: Fine, I won't sleep with you anymore.

Athrun: WAIT! -nightmare, panic-

Kira: -equally nightmare/panicking- ...gah. Lady, have you ever heard of 'closure'?

Drac: Not really, no.

_And there are probably a gajillion little inconsistencies and over-repetitions, but I'd need about three beta-readers handy to spot them all, and I don't even have one. So, hope you enjoyed it, anyway, despite all the self-pity Athrun, Kira and the authoress (=D) have been filled to the brim with. This was not meant to imply Athrun/Nicol, but you can see it that way if you want to._

_Reviews boost the ego and inspire more fics! –downpoint-_


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